


bringing a bitch to heel

by airtight



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Anal, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Body Modification, Bondage Stocks, Boot Worship, Cock Rings, Consensual Non-Consent, Creampie, Cunnilingus, D/s, DLDR, Degradation, Device Bondage, Drabble Collection, Enema drinking, Explicit Language, F/M, Fetish Language, Fingering, Gags, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Ds, Nipple Piercing, PWP, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Slave, Sex Toys, Sounding, Spiked Lube, Suspension, Voyeurism, Watersports, electro shock play, enema, latex suit, pain slut, spitting, stress positions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27974183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airtight/pseuds/airtight
Summary: Nighthaven has a place in Rainbow, and most of the time it's spent on their knees. Shameless PWP.
Relationships: Eliza "Ash" Cohen/Apha "Aruni" Tawanroong, Eliza "Ash" Cohen/Jordan "Thermite" Trace, Håvard "Ace" Haugland/Apha "Aruni" Tawanroong, Jaimini Kalimohan "Kali" Shah/Saif "Oryx" Al Hadid, Jordan "Thermite" Trace/Apha "Aruni" Tawanroong, Mark "Mute" Chandar/Håvard "Ace" Haugland, Mark "Mute" Chandar/Jordan "Thermite" Trace, Mike "Thatcher" Baker/Jaimini Kalimohan "Kali" Shah, Mike "Thatcher" Baker/Ngũgĩ Muchoki "Wamai" Furaha, Seamus "Sledge" Cowden/Jaimini Kalimohan "Kali" Shah, Seamus "Sledge" Cowden/Ngũgĩ Muchoki "Wamai" Furaha
Kudos: 35





	1. kali i.

She swings in the breeze like a pendulum.

Back and forth, side-to-side. Shifting weight making the overhead beam creak as she dangles from a metal hook, rope harness biting into soft skin. Nose ring glinting in the sun.

Kali gasps a slobbering breath around her gag, eyes blinking rapidly against the bright light. Hair sticking in sweat-slick strands to her face.

Several feet in front of her, Oryx slows to a stop. Dark gaze transfixed by the sight. Turning off the music roaring in his ears, breath still ragged from his morning jog, the Jordanian glances at her bound, purpling tits - then the splash of pubic hair guarding her cunt.

He ignores the shake of her head, tucking away his air pods with a rare half-smile.

Refusing to back off when the red cloth clutched in her fist fails to drop.

The heavy thud of sneakers. The sound of a zipper dragging down, and Kali can only hiss when he moves between her spread thighs, scraping a blunt nail over her clit. One thick finger rubs into her glistening sex a few seconds later, collecting her juices before slipping further down, his other arm wrapping around her body and pinning her to his chest.

Anticipating the loud grunt and panicked struggling, when he forces his way into her tightly puckered arsehole with brute strength alone.

‘This is good, Jaimini,’ Oryx says, stoic. Sympathy lost beneath the growing ache in his balls, when her features start to crumple with pain. ‘You will hold me nicely.’

He pulls out after a few rough strokes, stepping away to make use of the lube station nearby. Letting her recover, if only so he could experience opening her up again once she’d clenched her arsehole back into a taut bud. Squirting a generous coat of KY onto his cock, Oryx pumps his hardening length with squishy, wet sounds, not intending to make a show of it, but doing so anyway.

The slow, erotic massage giving Kali a close up view of what’s about to batter her insides, before pumping her full of cum.

Twisting sharply in her bonds, wide-eyed stare locked on the drooling tip of his cock that’s thicker than her wrist, Kali starts trying to negotiate. Choked gobbling holding meaning despite the garbled words.

Oryx lets her say her piece, head tilting to the side.

Patting her face when she runs out of air, palm catching strings of her saliva as they slip from behind the gag.

He side-steps back around her as she’s snorting in breaths like a horse finishing a race, taking advantage of her distraction to grasp his cock and guide the mushroomed head between her trembling arse cheeks while she sags against the ropes, unable to lift herself away.

‘— _Nrgghffffffffff_ -'

She can feel him there, lined up and ready to take what’s his. Oryx pauses to catch her small waist in a vice-like grip, double-checking the red cloth is in her fist before pressing forward. Boring into her perfect little anus until it gives under the relentless pressure, incessant babbling turning into a squeal as her ring stretches obscenely wide, engulfing him in delicious heat.

Fisher still liked to think of her as one of them. A warrior who could stand in the face of evil, laugh in the face of death.

But as Oryx sinks deeper into her rectum, listening to her groans getting louder and louder - each one matching the growing crescendo of his pleasure - and watching her fingers hold desperately onto the cloth that could save her from being split in two, he knows that she’s made for this.

Made to be his whore.


	2. wamai i.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 17/01/2021.

Gold words sparkle against dark skin.

Wamai struggles inside the bondage stock; whole body tugging uselessly, trying to break out of the restraint. Both of his hands are trapped, wood encircling his wrists. Rough and unforgiving, it would have bitten into his throat, too, if the hole they’d locked his neck into hadn’t been padded. But they’d been taking care. Controlling fingers almost gentle as they’d pushed a wooden bench under his belly and wrenched his muscular legs apart, forcing him to bend at the waist. Shackling his ankles to the ground.

The light, tickling pressure of a damp marker had followed; first drawing an arrow pointing towards his spread cheeks, before penning a message in messy cursive: _OPEN FOR SERVICE_.

Sledge stops, admiring his work.

‘There’s no point fighting it, slag,’ the man’s brogue is low, husky - his gaze flicking between Wamai’s quivering thighs, thumb clicking the lid back on the pen. ‘Daddy’s going make you airtight…’

Unable to move, Wamai feels a rush of heat go straight to his cock - a soft, needy groan working it’s way out through the ring gag pressed uncomfortably between his teeth. Bubbles of saliva dribbling down his chin before the noise cuts off; muted by a gasping breath.

His nose is plugged by a hook; blunt metal pushed deep into his nostrils. Making it impossible to breath, the chain it’s attached to applying pressure. Forcing his head upright.

Tucking away his pen, Sledge dips his fingers into a jar full of lube. Not bothering with foreplay as he smears a glob of boy butter against Wamai’s twitching anus, grinning sharply at how swollen and red it already was after a day of being broken in. Now and hours of it being punish-fucked into compliance leave the orifice slick and piping hot. The muscle barely resisting when Sledge makes a triangle with three fingers and rams them knuckle-deep; their forceful intrusion making Wamai’s ring burn, even as it stretches. Pre-cum leaking out of his neglected cock and dripping to the floor as Wamai tries pushing backwards; sodomised channel contracting to around Sledge, desperate for friction.

Earlier and it had been locked up tighter than a drum. Sledge breaking out into a sweat when he’d first wedged his cock into the Kenyan, inch-by-inch. It’d been a game. One where Sledge had reclined on the rec room's couch, fatigues unzipped. Beer in hand. Wamai had straddled him, fingers wrapped around Sledge’s rock-hard cock; calm, meditative mask slipping as he’d guided the thick tip up into his crack.

The rules had been simple.

For each minute Wamai took to impale himself, he’d earn thirty minutes locked in the stocks.

Wamai had taken five, before Sledge had lost patience and rolled them over with a grunt. Ramming his half-buried length to the hilt in Wamai’s spasming hole with brutal, jack-hammering thrusts.

‘A well-bred little pussy, aye?’ Sledge slaps the helpless man’s arse, the memory helping build the growing ache his balls. The sting of his palm striking Wamai makes the other man flinch, the blow leaving a visible hand print, and Sledge twists his wrist. Fretting at the walls of Wamai’s rectum, earning a wet groan. ‘What do you think?’

The question isn’t meant for Wamai, who couldn’t have answered even if he’d wanted to. Instead the answer comes with footsteps ringing in the back of the storage room - the noise prompting Sledge to tug out. 

Delivering another harsh slap to Wamai’s tightly bound body, Sledge spits into the slight gaped opening before standing aside; casually sharing their intimate scene with another.

There’s the sound of a belt being unbuckled. The rustle of fabric as fatigues drop to pool around ankles. 

Blunt nails bite into slender hips and Wamai shivers in the bruising grip, anticipation met with the familiar feeling of someone’s cock punching through his open, pouting hole. It fills him slowly. Careful, but relentless as it stretches him out, reshaping him until he fits the intruder like a perfectly tailored glove.

‘…It’ll do,’ Thatcher remarks, dismissive. Flat tone implying that the whimpering man massaging his length is little more than a place to holster his cock. Adjusting his position to follow the kink of Wamai’s bowels, Thatcher keeps pressing forward - refusing to stop even as the growing fullness makes Wamai’s toes curl, garbled moans ratcheting up a few notches as Thatcher bottoms out. Wiry pubic hair scratching Wamai’s sensitive skin. ‘You don’t ‘alf wear ‘em out, Seamus.’

Sledge is already walking back around, not interested in watching his friend conquer the piggy slut’s worn pussy. Coming to a stop in front of Wamai, drinking in the contorted features of his handsome face, Sledge undoes his fly - fishing his own cock from his briefs. Holding it in his fist, he grasps the chain attached to the hook in Wamai’s nose - jerking it up with a painful tug until the man’s wide-open mouth hovers invitingly close. Wamai staring up at him, eyes fogged with a mix of pleasure and pain.

He knows what’s coming.

Wamai already trying to lap at the underside of Sledge’s cock.

‘It’s what they’re made for,’ Sledge says with a shrug. Feeding the mushroomed head of his cock through the ring gag, he savours the wet warmth engulfing him, before reaching around to press his hand against Wamai’s short, black hair. Holding him in place to make sure he can’t escape the sudden, pungent stream of piss Sledge unleashes; the angle of his length, the position of his slit on the man’s tongue, making Wamai taste every bitter drop. 

If he’d been kinder, he’d have pumped it straight down Wamai’s throat.

But he isn’t. 

Instead watching Wamai gag and choke with sadistic amusement, yellow liquid spilling back out over his chin to join the strings of drool already coating it in a light sheen. Soon, though, and thepiggy slut musters enough control over himself to start gulping it down. ‘Besides, if you’d let me have one of the others-’

‘You can ‘ave Haugland once he’s ‘ad his punishment,’ Thatcher tells him, gruff voice carrying over Wamai’s desperate slurping. ‘Shah you can ‘ave if you want sloppy seconds. Tawanroong is spoken for.’

‘Fisher?’

‘Not on the table,’ Thatcher is rocking back and forth, using Wamai in an easy rhythm until the man’s puffed ring clamps down, fighting to hold him inside. The sudden demand makes Thatcher growl; the man digging his nails deeper into Wamai’s hips and slamming forward with all his strength. Burying his cock back inside, the violence of it making firm arse cheeks wobble. 

Making Wamai cry out around the cock in his mouth; piss gurgling in the back of his throat.

Thatcher rips himself out more than halfway, then drives himself back into the velvet heat with the same force, clobbering obedience into the naughty piggy slut. Punishing him for daring to try and dictate the tempo of their fucking, while continuing the conversation. Not missing a beat. ‘But when ‘e is, Alex ‘as first shot.’

‘You’d think he’d be too busy training his own harem,’ Sledge mutters, sounding annoyed. He had to imagine that with their ingrained, state-sponsored homophobia, the Russians would have some lovely, virginal arseholes begging for a good pounding. Senaviev was a lucky bastard, having such a monopoly on so many new, submissive fuck holes.

‘Maybe if you ask ‘im nice, ‘e’ll let you take one.’

‘It’s not him that has to agree to it.’ Finished shooting his load into Wamai, Sledge tucks himself back into his pants, loosening his grip on the chain. The talk of boundaries coming up because his own responsibilities were on his mind. He hadn’t seen any indicators from Wamai, but it was best to check-in. To be sure. ‘You still green?’

Wamai gasps, nodding his head.

Gaze locked on the bulge in Sledge’s jeans.

The picture of a good little whore wanting more.

It’d taken a few weeks of work to condition the enjoyment in his submissive. Sledge tying Wamai to the foot of his bed and forcing him onto his knees each morning, rattan cane leaving harsh stripes on his chest until he’d pressed a kiss against Sledge’s cock in greeting. Unwilling mouth opening to take the sour concoction Sledge had brewed overnight. 

The lesson repeating, over and over. Revulsion becoming tempered enthusiasm, with the proper encouragement.

‘Good boy,’ Sledge says, gently stroking the back of is hand down Wamai’s cheek. The willingness Wamai had for being utterly destroyed over and over again, banishing thoughts of the Russians from his mind. ‘I’ll have Shah lick that pussy of yours clean when we’re done, but until then,’ Sledge zips ups, then catches a glob of piss-flavoured saliva where it’s beading on Wamai’s clean-shaved jaw, slipping it back between the piggy slut’s stretched lips with his index finger. Wamai barely registering him through a series of increasingly guttural groans as Thatcher starts long-dicking his abused sphincter; the assault threatening to last for far too long in the face of Thatcher’s control. ‘I’ll let the lads know we're open for business.’


	3. ace i.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought this was extreme before, it gets worse. You've been warned.

Dusty boots start to shine under furious lapping, pink tongue working it’s way into every crack and crevice - the bitch swallowing down the grit, and mud, with soft, broken noises. 

Mute cracks an eyelid to supervise, idly scratching at his chest with a yawn. The fabric of his shirt bunching beneath his nails. A quick glance at the clock suggests it’s been ten minutes, and he reaches up to rub the bridge of his nose. _Why the bloody hell is this taking so long?_

It’s not for lack of trying. Spots that have already been licked clean looking almost brand new; saliva-coated polish doing wonders to the worn leather. But as good as the detailing is, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s bored.

The quiet agitating a mind used to solving complex programming algorithms, and hardly interested in the tortured fuck slave whimpering by his feet.

Ace has always had a flair for the dramatic.

Fit, toned body encased in a restrictive, latex suit - the vacuum-sealed binding only granting access to his fuckable holes, nose, and sight - he keeps pausing in his task to glance up at Mute with red-rimmed eyes. As if hoping there’s a shred of sympathy left for him.

Meeting the narcissistic twat’s gaze, Mute cracks his other eyelid - agreeing with Ace one thing.

The pity vote probably is the smartest way to play his cards.

But unfortunately for him, even Mute - who’s interest in sex and submission doesn’t usually extend to this level of extreme - finds a dark, gratifying pleasure in his suffering. 

Nighthaven’s destruction - his destruction - beyond satisfying.

‘…Stop fussing at me.’ Mute leans forward in his recliner, lanky frame unfurling. Ire growing until Thatcher, and Sledge, are echoed in his words. ‘Or I’ll give you something to cry about.’ 

‘ _Vær så snill_ -’ the fuck slave decides it’s worth trying his luck, croaking. The jovial tone that usually underpins his voice missing in action for a long, long time now. ‘ _Please_ , I need a break. Cowden does not have to know-’

Mute is reaching for the remote before he can finish, answering the plea with a cold click of the button.

There’s a shocked yelp; Ace instinctively seizing up in response to sudden, sharp pain, then coming alive with a violent jerk. Hands shaped into puppy paws by unrelenting rubber reach for his crotch, his harsh yell quickly graduating to a scream when the electric current keeps frying his cock.

It’s when the pitch gets ear-splitting that Mute finally stops, resting his elbows on his knees, remote dangling from his fingertips. The wired cock ring had been a nice touch. Or he’d thought so, at least - the shaking fuck slave in front of him giving off a very different impression. 

He’d have to tell Sledge not everyone was a fan.

‘I warned you,’ Mute says, watching the bitch recover with panting, wet gasps. The analytical part of him studying the man’s now dribbling length. ‘Now look at the bloody mess you’ve made.’

It’s piss. The watery consistency an unmistakable sign of a voided bladder as it spills down latex thighs, pooling on the floor. Mute cocks an eyebrow, returning his attention to the fuck slave’s limp cock, making a note of the angry, red skin on either side of the taut metal loop. 

Maybe the voltage was a little high…

Or maybe Ace _had_ needed that break.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t actually know how long the bitch had been left in his crate for. Mute showing up at Sledge’s room an hour later than promised after the project he’d been consulting on for Pichon’s team in R&D had an emergency meeting. The last minute overtime a lot more fun than babysitting Sledge and Thatcher’s latest pain slut. 

Of course there’d been instructions left for him. Mute seeing a note taped above the crate - a wooden box that could fit a human if they pulled their knees to their chest, nose pressed against the airholes drilled into the side - when he’d finally made his way through the door, keys jangling in his grasp.

 _Pussy’s been flushed. Leave it tight_ , the note read, in Cowden’s distinctive writing. The man likely delegated to handling Haugland while Baker sorted official Nighthaven business, acting as the 2IC while the CEO had her arse torn apart on his orders. _Don’t feed him._

And that was it.

Sledge probably intending for Ace to wet himself.

Remorseless in setting him up to fail.

Now and Ace does exactly what Mute has growled at him, dropping his chin to stare despondently at the puddle. Coming to terms with what’s just happened. He opens his mouth, then closes it; Adam’s apple bobbing as he start to bow his head, noisily swallowing back bile. 

Committing to suck every last drop from the ground without having to be told, despite the disgust registering in his gaze.

Mute can’t help but admire the resolve. Almost hating to put a stop to it with a quick tap of his thumb. 

The answering hum of electrodes making Ace whimper and squirm, bulky frame flinching at the light shock rippling through his sore penis. This one far less cruel than the first.

‘You can clean that up later,’ Mute says, having decided that his half-done boots had priority for the next tongue-bath, and preferably one that doesn’t leave them stinking of urine. ‘After we’ve had ourselves a proper lesson.’

Ace doesn’t understand - confused. ‘Sir? I-’

It’s odd hearing the moniker - the deference, in the other man’s voice. But then Mute supposes he’s never really indicated how Ace should address him, a flash of discomfort making him snap his fingers, cutting off the question with sharp rebuke.

More than anything, Mute preferred silence.

‘Go,’ Mute points further into the room, indicating one of the devices Sledge had installed for the sole purpose of tormenting his submissive sluts. Ace turns in the same direction, cock twitching. The sight clearly bringing back memories. For a second it looks like he’s going to argue - the man swinging back around, glancing wearily at the remote in Mute’s grasp. Reluctance edging out desire when he opens the fuck hole in his face, forgetting its proper use. 

Mute taps the remote for a third time, listening to the squeal. ‘ _Now_.’

The fire ripping through his abused cocks sends Ace scrambling - his anus tensing with rhythmic pulses, in the pale circle between two black, latex cheeks - on his hands and knees, clumsy, and awkward towards the pussy pumping station. 

Named by Sledge, it’s a simple pile driving device, with four padded shackles built into the floor, each one placed to create a square big enough for a submissive to sit inside.

Once in there, the lucky slut would be forced onto their back, arms flat against the ground and wrists locked in the lower shackles. Then they would have their legs pulled up over their shoulders, their body folding into what looked like a reverse somersault, the brunt of their weight resting on their shoulder blades.

Their ankles would be secured last, in the upper shackles somewhere above their head. Trapping them in an unnatural position with their arse pointing towards the ceiling, and their thighs pulled apart in a ‘V’ that left their holes on display. 

Normally that bondage paired well with a fucking machine. The painful contorting of their body and merciless pounding of a dildo in their defenseless cunt or anus entertaining to watch at such a close, obscene angle.

Today and Mute has something different in mind.

Pulling himself out of the recliner with a grunt, he stands there for a minute, working out the kink in his muscles. Pressing his bicep into the crook of his elbow and stretching, Mute yawns again. Shirt riding up to expose his abs. 

Dark treasure trail disappearing beneath the waistband of tented pants.

Men didn’t usually have this effect. Women either, though there were a few exceptions. Most of them being his superiors, and critics, bent over a desk. Rubbing his nose with his forearm, Mute steps around the puddle of piss, checks that Ace is where he’s meant to be, and then walks to the closet where Sledge keeps his toys and lubes, tugging it open.

It’s the power fantasy that’s made him hard.

His absolute control over Haugland causing a physical response, even if he wouldn’t be caught dead sticking his dick in the used bitch. 

Knowing where it’s been.

The shelves in front of him are full of supplies. Mute frowns slightly, seeing a disorganized mess until he finally notices the labels stuck to each layer of plywood. Names. In alphabetical order. 

Ace is at the top; the selection tagged for him as devious as it is menacing. Mute feels his own arsehole clench when confronted with it, not even sure if the studded dildo lying innocuously behind a line of vicious, heating lubes, would fit into the man without shredding his hole. Reaching inside, Mute touches it out of morbid curiosity, gaze briefly flicking down to see if any of the other sluts received the same cruelty.

Lower in the closet and Mute gets to know a few of his colleagues better, some of the paraphernalia coming as a surprise.

Bandit has a medical speculum to enforce a prolonged and extreme gape. Kali an incredibly long, inflatable dildo designed to pack her insides, then stretch them at an agonizingly slow pace. Smoke’s shelf houses anal beads that grow to the size of a grapefruit, while Wamai’s has an array of gags, made specifically to pry open his jaws and grant access for deep throat-fucking. 

In between and there’s differing levels of kindness. Ela has a purple plug with a soft taper, meant for a beginner. Dokkaebi a remote-controlled vibrator that included the option for heating her pussy, or shocking it. Maverick didn’t seem to have any penetration toys, but there were collars, muzzles, dog bowls and chains. Hallmarks of pet play.

There were empty spaces in the cabinet, too. Dedicated sections given to new or prospect submissive sluts who hadn’t signed on to the group yet, or who Sledge hadn’t had a chance to fuck. Aruni, Pulse, Twitch and Kapkan seemed to have that status.

Then, even more recently added: Mute.

_Very funny, Seamus._

It’s a joke. Mute momentarily glaring at the offensive label, before snagging a handful of items and closing the door. He’d let Thatcher and Sledge have him once, both men taking turns milking his prostate well past the time he’d run dry. The experience not necessarily bad, but…

Mute drops a bottle of oil, sewing needles, and cock plugs onto Sledge’s duvet after circling back, both feet coming to a stop on either side of Ace’s head. The fuck slave is on his back, waiting to be twisted into the proper stress position. Quivering as Mute snaps on a pair of misappropriated surgical gloves.

… He much prefers being on this side of the equation.

‘You can yell if you want,’ Mute says, crouching down to close the distance between them, hands dangling in front of the man’s face, remote scraping the tip of Ace’s latex-covered nose. ‘But if I hear a single word out of you that isn’t a safe word, I’ll roast your bloody cock off. Understand?’

The question hangs in the air, laden with threat. 

Ace blinks up at him, obedience leaving him unable to respond outside of an obstructed, half-nod.

‘Cowden hasn’t shagged all your brains out, then,’ Mute considers the submissive, head cocking to the side, fingers drumming against Ace’s cheek through the rubber. Eventually he stops, tapping on the warm, pink lips currently clamped shut. ‘Open.’

They do; Ace parting them instantly. Mute leans forward, making an awful, hacking noise as he dredges something up from the back of his throat, letting his gift visibly bubble on his own lips. Drinking in the look of pure disgust in the fuck slave’s eyes as he takes aim, spitting into the waiting mouth.

‘That’s a treat for behaving,’ Mute says, feeling his balls tighten when Ace, after taking the wad of thick, sticky saliva without a complaint, pokes his tongue out, showing Mute that he’s received it before swallowing audibly. ‘If you take your punishment like a good slag, I’ll give you more.’


	4. aruni i.

Black paws curve around her left hip.

The tattoo is old, and cheap. It’s artistic nuance lost to blurred lines and ink that’s fading on tanned skin. Thermite had asked her about it years ago, back when his fingers were scarred by the constant handling of guns, not burns. Back when she’d been blood and bone, and not a third part metal.

 _A bad decision in a past life_ , she’d answered. Aruni letting him trace the spiraling path of paw prints with a mischievous grin, before guiding his hand back between her legs. _Like this will be if you keep getting distracted, Jordan_. 

It occurs to him, now, while he’s watching her squat in red, six inch heels, that he’d never asked her if she’d regretted that night. Or any of the nights since.

Maybe it was getting to be a good time to have that conversation.

Before they went handing her over for a reckoning he’s not quite sure she’s ready for.

The thought leaves a sour taste on his tongue, and Thermite tosses his shot glass back, chasing it down with a gulp of whiskey. Handsome features grimacing at the taste. He could do this. Easy as one, two, three.

He just has to stop thinking of her as _his_.

In the distance, there’s a scream - muted, but recognizable through the base’s tempered walls. Thermite wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, briefly wondering what Havard is having his pussy exercised with this time. The mental image of Sledge wearing the poor bastard’s anus like a glove, quick to pop into his head. Soon enough, though, and the tall, lean body of imaginary Ace starts melting into the tiny, beautiful submissive still safely in front of him. Aruni squealing in his mind’s eye while Sledge buries his fist inside her, one mighty forearm propping her delicate sphincter wide open.

_Goddamn._

Another muffled wail that could have been Havard or the tortured apparition in his thoughts has Thermite reaching for the whiskey again, like it might wash away the future. 

He takes a pull, straight from the bottle. His half-lidded gaze sliding passed the window - which is framing the brutal torment of Kali, tied, and hanging from the rafters in tight suspension, while Saif uses his cudgel of a cock to beat the brakes off her pretentious little arsehole - and landing on Aruni. 

Still teetering precariously in her fuck me heels, thighs straining to hold the position while a long, veined dildo hummed deep in her cunt.

It’s base mounted on a pole, silicone shivering with rhythmic vibrations.

Aruni moans, taut abdominal muscles convulsing. The slow build leaving her so close to climax that she would have already fucked herself over the edge if it weren’t for the woman standing above her, fingers knotted in her hair. 

Ash grinds against her face, forcing Aruni to lick the slick folds of her perfect, pink cunt, and punishing the detective with sharp tugs that tore at her scalp when she doesn’t do it fast enough. It’s a beautiful thing to watch; Ash gyrating faster and faster - smitten with the sight of Kali being so utterly ruined, her arousal climbing with each second her rival is subjected to the public humiliation - until her trimmed nails suddenly let go of the detective, Ash reaching down to rub her own clit. 

Desperately looking for release.

_Now that ain’t good._

Using his shoulder to push himself off the wall he’s leaning on, Thermite steps into the mix with a frown, wordlessly sliding his hand under the rose gold singlet Ash is wearing to massage her back. His palm eventually dropping down to ghost over her bare arse, following the inward slope to her thighs and reaching through the gap.

Grasping Aruni by the throat, hard enough that the impaled woman flinches in surprise.

‘You’re doin’ real good, darlin’.’ Thermite says, hunkering down next to her trembling body and placing his half-finished bottle on one of the two silver platters they’ve been making her balance on outstretched hands. ‘But that pussy ain’t gonna eat itself.’

Aruni listens to him, picking up the pace and working her tongue into the Ash’s dripping heat, fucking her with the warm, wet muscle. But it’s too late. Ash pushing the detective away with a harsh shove, blowing a disgruntled sigh through her nose. ‘It’s not working.’

He knows that it’s over, then. 

Thermite reassuring his submissive that it’s not her fault by cupping her chin and running his thumb over her scar, wiping the sticky arousal from her cheek. Pausing to suck it from his finger before trying to change fate one last time.

‘Come on, ‘Liza-’

‘Don’t start with me,’ Ash interrupts him with a flat, annoyed tone - already rummaging in their shared bedside table for her magic wand. ‘Baker wants his collection, so her time’s up. Get rid of it and bring back Erik. You’ve let them have him long enough.’

‘I ain’t gonna start nothin’, ‘Liza. I’m just sayin’ I can get him back without-’

‘Seamus said the terms of the deal are an even trade. Erik for Apha. And Erik knows how to eat pussy without slobbering all over it. If you’re asking me, that means we’re getting the better end of the deal.’ Finding what she’s looking for, Ash unravels the cord and plugs it into the power socket that usually controls their lamp. ‘So, like I said.’

She finally deigns to glance at him, enunciating herself clearly and with an audible bite. ‘Go. And. Get. Him.’

It’s an order. 

From the only woman he’s ever been willing to take them from. 

Thermite looks at his grumpy red-head, feeling a pang in his crotch when she crawls onto their bed and spreads her legs, giving him a front row seat to the Eliza Cohen show as she turns on her vibrator. The opening to her sex visible through parted labia.

She isn’t going to wait for him.

Not that he’d ever dare ask her to, even if he happens to think her needy cunt is begging for his cock.

‘Yeah, yeah…’ Thermite turns back to Aruni - Apha, meeting her dark eyes and seeing the simmering desire lurking beneath the surface. 

They’ve always had an understanding, the two of them. Their arrangement built on weeks of fucking each others brains out in a Bangkok motel, and later made official once the joint FBI and RTP surveillance operation they’d been deployed on ended. The Detective and former Marine finalizing the contract at a local restaurant, over beers and pad cha, his fingers already probing their way into her satin panties, teasing her under the table.

Every single part of her would belong to him. Head, to toe, with every hole fucked by his cock, and every orgasm given by his command. He’d always treat her right - the responsibility of being a Dominant one that he carried with confidence, and care - and if she’d ever needed a break from playing their game, she could take it. 

If she’d wanted to end it, all she’d had to do was ask. 

But she never had. Thermite remembering that as he’s taking the platters from her hands and placing them on the ground. In all their years together, she’s been a loyal submissive, answering to him and him alone. Not needing anything else.

Until now.

He snaps a leash onto her before he can go down that rabbit hole of betrayal, clipping it to the chain running between her ringed nipples, then helping to ease her off the humming sex toy with an arm around her waist. He brushes a kiss against her forehead once she’s upright, softening at the contented noise she makes.

Forgetting that it’s Ash he’s tasting on his lips.

‘I hear you,’ Thermite says, murmuring. Breathing in her scent. Words ambiguous enough that they could have been meant for either woman. ‘Bout time we got to sharin’, ain’t it?’

Apha is ready for the change.

Just as much as he’s wanting it to stay the same.

Jerking the leash and then applying constant pressure, Thermite gives his submissive a half-grin - her small tits stretching into cones while he encourages her to follow him. Aruni taking staggering steps in his wake and trying to match his stride when he starts walking towards the door, her breasts aching for more slack in the tether.

Yet she’s quiet as a mouse.

The detective knowing better than to speak, with ‘Liza sitting so close by.

‘Oh, and Jordan?’ 

_Speak of the devil._

Thermite stops on the threshold, motioning for Aruni to keep stumbling out into the hall, and grants the red-head his undivided attention. ‘Yes, your highness?’

Ash is poised on their duvet, already looking back out at Kali, drinking in the scene with an almost predatory kind of hunger and lowering the wand’s buzzing tip towards her own, soaked cunt. ‘Check that they haven’t killed Havard on your way out, please.’

Thumbs finding their way into the belt loops of his jeans, Thermite raises an eyebrow. ‘Didn’t think you were much for carin’ about Cowden’s bitch.’

‘I’m not,’ Ash says, voice carrying barely a hint of malice, the vibration of her toy kicking into another gear. She’s upping the speed, teeth biting at her lower lip. Face flushing while she swallows back a moan. When she talks again, it’s breathless. Her eyes fluttering shut. ‘But I need him for the tournament...’  
  
‘Of course you do, darlin’,’ Thermite rumbles a laugh, loving the cold-hearted selfishness of her concern. ‘I’ll make sure he’s in one piece.’

And with an amused shake of his head, he tightens his grip on the leash and goes to do just that.


	5. kali ii.

Her mascara is running.

Oryx had given her time to adjust, in the beginning. Drilling into her tiny orifice with a slow, agonizing push, his girth straining her ring to its limit. Blanching the tender muscle white. Kali had squealed like a stuck pig, trying to force him back out, the feeling of her battered walls bearing down on him making Oryx breathe a soft sigh of content as her ravaged hole nursed his cock.

‘You are lovely and tight,’ his throaty voice had murmured in her ear after a long, drawn out moment. Oryx enjoying the snug, fluttering warmth of her panic. 'It is a pity I will ruin that.’

And he had.

Short, rocking thrusts inching his cock further and further, the pressure in her rectum causing discomfort. Pain. Not so long ago and she would have torn the hand from anyone who’d dared touch her there, believing it was dirty. Repulsive. _Wrong_.

Thatcher had dispelled her of that notion. Or perhaps it was more that he’d _desensitized_ her to it, after months of delicate training. By the time Kali had realized what he’d been doing, she’d already submitted to him in ways she couldn’t take back. Their sessions, always a fierce, unrelenting battle for dominance, softening the scratch of her nails on his back, the bruising bite of his teeth on his neck, every time she’d come apart under his hands.

He’d been clever in picking his battles. Thatcher waiting until she was close to the edge before growling in her ear, telling her that she’d needed the release. That she’d wanted it, each time she’d lost their fight; her body arching towards him, tits scraping against his chest. His language gradually changing until _Jaimini_ turned into _cunt_ , _how pretty she looked_ climaxing on his cock with soft, needy cries, turning into _how desperate she was to be stuffed_.

Her pleasure turning into a request sometimes ignored.

She hated him for it, sometimes. Hated herself, too, because it’d been her pride that made her think she could play his game. Pride that made her think she could win, even as she’d willingly followed him down the path, letting him twist her thinking.

She was a slut to be used. A hole to be fucked. A bitch who belonged under his boot, when she wasn’t servicing his cock.

Boundaries had moved, her own thoughts echoing his words. Anal had made it onto her scheduled training and she’d argued, and glared, but in the end she was his. Kali’s distaste meaning very little to her new Daddy, and to her, because she’d conditioned herself to take it. To take whatever he’d wanted her to take.

Despising it just as much back then as she does now, when he’d violated her with a pen, then a finger. Thatcher spending several nights humiliating her with candles, plugs, a brush handle - even a cucumber, before handing her over to Cowden for a proper education.

She remembered spending her nights tied over Sledge’s headboard, then, with her ankles lashed to the bedposts. Forced stance making her hips sway from side to side as she’d struggled to hold the position.

Wiggling arse enticing the big brute of a man into new kinds of brutality, as he’d caned stripes into her skin, cracked welts onto her straining, helpless body with a belt. Softening her up before spending hours between her long, gorgeous legs, breaking her in with increasingly thick toys until she could take him without tearing, his huge hands wrapping around her neck and squeezing the air from her lungs when his cock finally conquered her tight little rosebud, shrieks turning into choked gasps, fire burning deep in her once virginal passage.

She’d tallied the numbers, counting every time she and Sledge had cum during the devastating, three week course. Torment only getting worse when she’d reported their progress back to Thatcher the morning after each lesson, her exhausted, used body bending over his knee, manicured fingers spreading her so her increasingly pulverized hole was on display.

Her total was always higher.

The strong, capable woman she’d been, unable to go more than an hour without desperately wanting a cock in her cunt and spit on her lips. Kali accepting the fact that she lived to be degraded.

There’d been a groan, loud, and bringing her back to the present with hot breath against her ear. Oryx had reached the curve of her rectum after a few careful minutes, delight rumbling in his chest when he’d managed to ease through. Surprised that she could handle being taken so deeply; penetration often becoming intolerable for an amateur without weeks of careful depth training.

Kali had bitten into her gag, pussy winking hungrily. Begging for a taste of the brutal fucking she’d been about to endure.

Minutes later and the scent of sweat hangs heavy in the painted gazebo, underscoring the slap of skin against skin. Oryx is pummelling the resistance out of her anus like a battering ram, hips slamming her so hard that her entire body shakes, purple breasts jiggling harshly, the agony of it exquisite, and cruel.

Crackling up her spine like an electric shock, while copious amounts of drool dripped down her chin.

Oryx climaxes mid-thrust, reaching around to grab her poor, abused tits. Digging his fingers in and holding her against him as he drives home with a grunt, bottoming out. He floods her bowels with enough hot semen that she’s already starting to cramp, Kali protesting the indignity of it with a blubbering cry, exhaustion leaving her weak.

‘Now, now.’ Oryx chides with a slightly ragged breath, holding her there, the helpless squirming doing little more than help milk the last drops of cum from his cock. ‘You must take this, whore.’

Pressing his forehead into the crook of her neck, the coarse fabric of his shirt rubbing against her skin, Oryx rides the post-orgasm wave until it breaks on the shore. Fizzing into nothing, his thundering pulse evening out. Oryx resurfaces after a moment with his familiar, unshakable calm, wrapping one burly arm around her quivering belly and using the other to unhook her suspension harness from the wooden beam above.

‘Let’s see if we have broken you properly,’ he murmurs, carrying her over to an outdoor table near the edge of the gazebo. Still balls deep in her rectum, Oryx heaves her up - cock slipping free with a wet pop. ‘Seamus promised beer if you could not close after our fucking.’

Kali lets out a muted screech when Oryx drops her unceremoniously on the table, unable to stop herself from colliding with the hard surface. Trapped in bondage, she hits it face-first, cheek and shoulders coming to rest against the slatted wood, both throbbing with the impact.

She vaguely registers that she’s in the bitch-in-heat position - on her knees with legs spread, by virtue of the ropes binding her - and whimpers, dread washing over her when warm hands ease her arse cheeks apart again.

Oryx inspecting the raw, pouting hole before she has a chance to get her bearings.

In the quiet, broken only by the sound of semen dripping onto the table, he makes an unhappy noise. The few seconds he’d spent moving her costing him the sight of her completely fucked open, and suddenly he’s jamming the thumb and forefinger on both hands into her minced anus and stretching her wide. Forcing a gape roughly the size of a tennis ball.

‘This look suits you, Jaimini,’ Oryx says, studying the distended ring and glistening, red tunnel with approval as Kali twitches, closing her eyes against the sting of humiliated tears.‘You should wear it more often.’

It hurts.

Like a wasp has stung the individual wrinkles of her puckered sphincter. Kali realises, rather distantly, that she’s not going to be able to meet her investors tomorrow; prolonged time sitting in a meeting room chair impossible.

And that was only if Thatcher decided to let her out of her cage, her Daddy more likely to punish her for being such a wanton whore.

‘- more work to do.’ Oryx is saying, his words not quite reaching past her own thoughts. He lets go of her, allowing her devastated opening to relax back into an incredibly swollen version of what it was before, and starts rummaging around behind her. ‘You will hold a gape when we are done. But before we begin-’

Kali barely feels the syringe’s plastic tip sodomize her. Not realizing Oryx has pushed a douching toy inside her until he’s depressing the plunger, cold water mixing with his own fluids.

Cramps far worse than before rip through her guts, a volume of at least half a quart distending her colon. Kali chews on her gag with renewed energy, grinding her teeth through the worst of it, and tries to look behind her. Head raising off the table. It’s not the first enema she’s had today, though she’s not sure why he’s flushing her out now-

Suddenly there’s a second insertable probing its way into of her, slightly larger that his thumb. It doesn’t hurt - she’s too loose for it to hurt - until the smooth, rubber sides start to expand in regular intervals. Inflating to the size of a mandarin, then an orange.

Trapping the water inside.

Kali tries to ask a question through sharp, squeaking breaths, unsure of what’s happening. Unintelligible noises bringing Oryx around to stand in her blind spot, where she turn her head far enough. The man an intimidating shadow, just beyond the corner of her eye.

‘The plug will not inflate any further,’ he says, unbuckling the gag that’s been silencing her for well over an hour, and tossing it to the floor. ‘Do you feel it, Jaimini? I see you trying to push it out…’

It’s an observation. Oryx more amused than mad, watching her dilating around the toy, his fingers gently teasing away hair stuck to her face. Kali manages to push the cum-slick balloon out by half an inch before her muscles give up, sucking it back in. She lets out a pitiful cry, hearing Oryx chuckle, and works enough saliva back into her mouth to rasp desperately. ‘Sai-’

The wet, leaking end of a medical-grade tube jabs past her chapped lips. Oryx takes advantage of the opening, his gentle touch becoming a restraint as her tongue flicks clumsily against the object. ‘Seamus said you did not have breakfast,’ Oryx says, cryptic, and cups her chin, nails biting into her cheeks. Preventing her pulling back.

Confusion is making her slower on the uptake than usual, Kali still tracking the the clear tubing - it’s diameter the same as a permanent marker - to where it’s snaking around her bound body, disappearing behind her thigh, when sudden realisation hits. The puzzle pieces falling into place.

 _Breakfast_.

Panic darkens her gorgeous features, Kali feeling her eyes pop wide in shock. The other end is lodged in her inflamed rectum.

Oryx looks at her, impassive. Unblinking.

‘ _No_ ,’ It’s hard to talk - to plead, with her jaws aching from the gag. But Kali does it, switching tack to beg like a good submissive slut, revulsion in her eyes. ‘ _Please no_ -’

The back-hand isn’t hard, but it stuns her into silence. Oryx releasing her long enough to deliver the harsh rebuke, reminding her of her place. Her purpose. Using his palm for the next strike, he slaps her with enough force for it to sting, making her flinch, and twist, her pupils contracting.

She’s shivering. The temperature of the water not the only reason for goose bumps rising on her skin. Kali knows she can’t escape this, whimpering when Oryx feeds the pipe deeper into her mouth as punishment, yet dutifully wrapping lips down around the tube in a tight seal anyway.

Reluctance evident as she starts sucking, liquid slowly twining up the pipe.

It splashes against her tongue, tasting like nothing; Kali feeling a wave of relief, despite disgust causing some of it to gurgle back up her throat once she’s forced it down. But then the consistency of the fluid changes; thin water becoming thicker. Saltier. A glob of cum pops through the pipe and she gags, choking on strangled sobs. The tube is running clear, with flecks of white. Proving that she’s clean, even though she’s starting to taste herself. Feeling herself slurp the juices from her own swollen hole.

She turns her pleading gaze to Oryx again, shame and humiliation cutting her to the core. Not even thinking of the red cloth in her fist as an option.

‘When you are finished, I will fuck you again,’ Oryx reminds her, unmoved by her crumpling composure. Rubbing his rapidly hardening cock, he watches her gag for the second time, another rare half-smile briefly cracking his reserved mask. ‘You will take me easily now.’


	6. aruni & ace

Spice irritates his nose; Thermite turning the fresh ginger over in his fingers.

The root painstakingly carved into an elongated plug. 

He has to admit that Mute’s captured the shape dead to rights, running a critical eye over handiwork. The blunted tip is a nice width; thick enough that it won’t break, but thin enough to penetrate a submissive with ease. The length itself is about four inches and has a good swell to it before tapering into a flared base. To prevent it from getting lost.

‘You’ve been learnin’ from Mike?’ 

Even now, standing in front of him, Mute is the spitting image of Mike Baker. His stance commanding, with boots planted squarely apart and arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes holding the same intensity of his mentor, while they slide down to watch the two sluts by their feet. Mute tightening his jaw and pressing his lips together. 

The young engineer nodding his head, and glancing back up again. Handsome features strikingly severe.

_Well, now… that ain’t how it’s supposed to work._

Because in this game some of Rainbow chose to play, where there was a community split along the lines of dominant, and submissive, everyone who’d ever signed up was initiated as a submissive. Doing their time, and learning the level of trust, and respect, that was needed in a D/s relationship. The exercise meant to teach them how to practice safely, before Thatcher would consider allowing any of them into the dominant ranks. Granting the status once he’d they’d earned it, and not a second before.

Except, it seemed, if you were Mute.

Thermite knowing for a fact that Mute had done hardly a lick of time before Thatcher had taken him under his wing, blatant favoritism letting the prodigy side-step a critical path.

‘It’s some damn fine knife work,’ Thermite says after a moment, still turning the ginger over in his fingers. As if he’s still looking. 

Not giving it back.

‘Cheers…’ Mute says slowly, sensing the hesitation.

Feeling the weight of the other man’s gaze, Thermite offers a dimpled grin. ‘You gonna keep softening him up?’

When he’d first poked his head into the room, Mute had just locked Ace into Cowden’s infamous pussy pumping station, and was using the bitch as a footrest. Heel grinding against the bulge of Ace’s testicles, trapped in tight, black latex. Making the man scream. 

No longer muted by the closed, wooden door, Ace’s squealing had quickly reached an ear-splitting decibel, and Thermite had grimaced, wondering how Mute could focus as he’d peeled, then sculpted the ginger root with a pocket knife.

‘Yeah, mate.’ Mute says after a long, drawn out moment, cogs turning in his brain. He knows there’s a reason his toy hasn’t been returned yet, but like most of the members in their community, Mute doesn’t dare question Thermite. Instead moving on to consider new ways of torturing his bitch with a noncommittal shrug. ‘Move your cunt, would you?’

The request is on the edge of demanding. Thermite has half a mind to consider it disrespect, until Mute drops his arms back to his sides and lowers his gaze. Body language showing deference. The non-verbal cues meant to reassure Thermite that he’s in charge, even if Mute isn’t about to say it. 

Both of them aware that in the hierarchy, it’s Thermite who’s sitting pretty at the top, next to Sledge, and Oryx, while Mute is riding on the spectre of goodwill. Protected only because Thatcher is above them all, and his soft spot has them turning a blind eye.

 _That might be too little, too late, brother,_ Thermite thinks to himself. Looping the handle of Aruni’s leash around his wrist, he holds the plug in one hand while rapidly firing off a text with his other, thumb swiping the bright screen of his iPhone. 

_**Deal stands?** _

He asks the question.

Words populating his latest message chain with Thatcher, right beneath a close-up image of Maverick’s arse cheeks split around the veined, grapefruit-sized lump of a knotted dildo. Twice as big as anything Thermite and Ash had made him take before. The caption directly above the picture, outlining the terms they’d both agreed to. _You can trade Apha for any slag you want, though this one’s cunt might need a break from the puppy trainer._

Distracted by Erik impaled on his screen, Thermite doesn’t notice his phone vibrating. Only realizing Thatcher has responded when a new text updates their chain: **_?_**.

_That was quick._

Thermite taps the reply box, again swiping across the keypad, and starts bringing his forearm - the one with the leash handle hanging around it - close to his chest. Tugging delicately. 

Light pressure pinching at the rings in Aruni’s nipples, coaxing an aroused moan.

She was enjoying herself. His submissive crouching over Ace, holding onto the man’s legs for balance while her wet pussy ruts against his face, forcing his tongue to work overtime as it laps her slit. 

It’s clear to anyone with a pair of eyes that Aruni is taking advantage. Using Ace for her own pleasure, and not caring that the man can’t escape the drooling sex smothering his mouth, or puckered anus scraping his nose. Shackled inside his bondage device, muscles stretching to their absolute limits, Ace is bent at angles he’s not flexible enough to hold without the cold, hard restraints forcing his body into the perfect pile driving position. Cowden’s pain slut left to hope that eating Aruni out will earn her mercy, and convince her to let him breathe.

The scene starkly similar to the predicament Aruni had been in with ‘Liza before. 

This time with the tables turned. 

Another tug goes unnoticed, and Thermite has to imagine that she’s definitely enjoying herself, because it isn’t every day that she outwardly defies him. Aruni knowing better than to disobey.

Sending his next text, Thermite slips his phone back into his jeans and twines the leash around his left hand. Leather pulling taut as he drags his submissive away from Ace with a brutal jerk, annoyance tempering his guilt when her moan turns into a piercing yelp. Aruni unbalancing on her six inch heels, toppling sideways.

Seconds later and Mute is wedging his shoe between her splayed legs, not kicking, but pushing with an increasing amount of force - the toe of his steel-capped boot threatening to ram itself deep into her cunt. 

Aruni gasps in shock, bucking.

Trying to dislodge him, before rolling onto her hands and knees, not realizing that Mute had just been encouraging her out of the way. ‘Daddy-’

She scrambles towards the safety of Thermite, her juices dripping onto the floor in a visible trail, and grunts in surprise when the tread of his boot suddenly stamps between her shoulder blades. Thermite pushing with all his might until she’s angled down, her head, and chest, close to the ground. 

Her hips swaying in the air.

‘Naughty girl,’ Thermite growls, looming over her. His palm cracking sharply against her arse, before scarred fingers glide over the glistening folds of her pussy. Aruni shuddering at the mix of pleasure, and pain. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she groans, forgetting, and forgiving. Their harsh treatment wiped from her mind as the desire to be filled takes hold. Aruni instinctively thrusting back when his thumb and forefinger part her labia, exposing her hole. ‘Please-’

Happy chemicals burst like fireworks as something rams home in her sex and Aruni suddenly loses her ability to speak, ecstasy cascading over her in soft notes. Making her eyes flutter closed.

The symphony slowly building into a blistering chorus before Aruni blinks them back open, squeaking at the growing burn in her cunt. 

She’s just helped fuck herself onto the ginger plug.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ Thermite says, smacking her again, and again. Working a nice blush onto her tanned skin, each blow making her cheeks wobble. The trick with figging - which he’s learned from punishing a few of his sluts before - was to make them clench around the root, because clenching drew out more of the ginger’s heat. 

A bit of spanking tended to help that along, too. Most sluts tensing up when they knew they were about to be hit, and clenching nice and tight. Adding to the pain. ‘Hold onto that for me.’

Kicking her feet in the air, Aruni shrieks as one particularly hard slap lands. The noise briefly capturing Mute’s attention. 

Standing next to Thermite, and behind Aruni, Mute palms his own crotch. Cock throbbing at the sight of her abused cunt stuffed with his handcrafted toy, before the need to release his growing, sexual frustration has him turning back to Ace.

‘Time to pucker up, slag,’ Mute says, looking down his nose into the bitch’s blue gaze - visible through the open ‘V’ of Ace’s shaking thighs - and balling his hand into a fist.

An answering groan drifts through the space between them. Ace figuring out what’s going to happen before Mute takes aim, entire body trembling with anticipation.

Cum squirting from his cock when knuckles sink into his balls just hard enough to bruise. 

Mute pulls his punch; wanting to tenderize the bitch’s sack, not pulp it, and, with his fist flattening the soft, sensitive bulge of testicles like well-kneaded dough, Mute starts twisting his wrist in a screwing motion. Watching Ace writhe against the nauseating pain ripping through his guts. 

Feeling the bitch’s warm pre-cum splash onto his fatigues.

Agony looks good on him.

Sounds good, too. The throaty cry that bursts from plump, cock-sucking lips, bringing both Thermite and Mute to an abrupt, almost reverent stop. 

‘I swear I ain’t ever seen a whore needin’ as much hurtin’ as you, bud,’ Thermite straightens from where he’d been bent at the waist, though keeps his foot nestled firmly between Aruni’s shoulder blades. Pose making him look like a man who’s just conquered Mt. Everest. ‘Look at that face...’

There isn’t a lot to see; Ace largely hidden by his latex suit. But from what they can see - in the holes around his eyes, and lips - Ace is turning a lovely shade of puce. Expression contorting beneath vacuum-sealed rubber the longer his testicles are mauled.

‘That didn’t sound like it hurt,’ Mute says to Thermite, considering Ace with vague interest; pretending that the bitch’s opinion on his own torment doesn’t matter. ‘Did it?’

Thermite shakes his head, understanding this song, and dance, very, very well. ‘My ears ain’t ringing.’

‘Maybe you’ve been standing too close to the breaching charges in SIM again.’ Mute reminds him, buying into the running joke that Thermite’s gone deaf with an irritating half-smirk. Thatcher having always said that Thermite has blown one big fucking hole, one time too many.

_Thought I was hearin’ Baker in there._

‘Or maybe you just ain’t cut out for nut-crackin’.’ Thermite drawls back, reaching for his iPhone and finding that the message he’d sent is still at the bottom of their chain. 

_**Any?** _

Thatcher is probably preoccupied, either giving one of his sluts their daily workout, or watching someone else do it for him. Exhaling through his nose, Thermite goes to lock his screen, stopping when his device buzzes in his palm.

**_You about to piss me off, Jordan?_ **

The old bastard’s ire is almost tangible, but where that might have had others quaking in their boots , Thermite simply grins harder, he’s done his time,. Getting his arse bred day-in and day-out by Sledge. Drinking as much cum as Kali’s no doubt put away after becoming a near permanent fixture in Thatcher’s bed. And in the end Thatcher had given him the keys to the castle. 

Granting him the honor of being a little goddamn brat without having to fear repercussions from his first and only Daddy.

_Got it in one, Mikey._

On his right, Mute snorts at the suggestion that he’s not good at something, unaware of the exchange, and quietly reaches into the pile of toys on the bed next to him. Thumbing open a bottle with a decisive click. 

‘Impact play always gets this slag off.’ Squeezing a generous dollop of lube onto the bitch’s vulnerable anus, Mute smears it around the wrinkled entrance with gloved fingers, making sure to rub it in thoroughly. ‘But this might work.’

The gel should have been cool, slowly coming up to body temperature after application. 

But in what seems like an instant, Ace comes to with a loud gasp. Sphincter locking up tighter than Alcatraz. 

Gaze bugging wide.

‘Chili oil?’ Thermite hazards a guess, having seen the effects of it on Kali once after Ash had convinced Thatcher to let her play with his prized submissive for a night. It had come at the cost of Ash spending the rest of the week in Thatcher’s bed. Or wherever he’d chosen to keep her. 

Thermite had never asked if it’d been worth the trouble.

Didn’t need to.

‘Keeps him honest.’ Mute says, voice taking on the same, distant quality it usually does when he’s focusing. Grasping Ace’s cock just beneath the glans, Mute rubs more lube into the bitch, fingering his piss slit - pinkie trying to work its way inside. 

On the floor and Ace tosses his head back and forth, locking his cries behind gritted teeth as white, hot pain lances through his cock, and arse. It’d being feeling a lot like he’s stuck both in an ants nest by now, but somehow, despite Ace twitching, and groaning, he’s straining upwards. Desperate for more of Mute’s teasing touch; the strange duality of pleasure and suffering making his tortured cock hard. 

‘Better cork this, shouldn’t we?’ Mute removes his probing finger, which had stretched the slit’s opening, and picks up a sound; the cock plug looking an awful lot like a screw. He shows it to Ace, making a point to slather the stainless steel with chili oil, before pressing it into the tiny hole. ‘We don’t need you pissing yourself again...’

The sound’s thin, bulb end inches into the bitch’s tight piss hole before increasing in diameter, a lipped overhang preventing it from penetrating more. Applying a bit of force, Mute conquers the resistance with a deft twist of his wrist, and Ace goes rigid. Every single part of him tensing in response to the violation as Mute screws the sound deeper into his slit, stinging the inner lining.

This time the noise tearing itself from the bitch’s throat is shrill as Ace convulses in his restraints, battering his ankles, his wrists. The restrictive rubber preventing his hands from scrunching into fists, or his toes from curling.

Keening whines mixing with ragged, panting breaths.

Mute twists the sound again, stainless steel grinding further into the intimate passage. He makes sure it’s seated nicely in Ace’s cock, before massaging another liberal coating of chili oil along the bitch’s length, then into his inflamed anus. Ace squirming beneath the cruel fingers as much as the pile driving position allows, tears beading in the corner of his eyes.

‘Aw, _shit_.’

Compared to Baker, and Cowden. Hell, compared to most of them, Thermite can admit that he’s a pussy cat. His big ‘ol heart just too soft for some of the more extreme kinks, and seeing Ace cry, even with his swollen cock and pebbled nipples, pulls at his heart strings. Thermite stepping off Aruni. 

‘Should have seen him when Seamus plumbed his pussy with the ghost pepper version,’ Mute says, pulling his nitrile gloves from his hands and tossing them into the bin by Sledge’s bed, which is littered with condoms and empty tubes of lube. ‘Packed him with this flexible dildo, about eleven inches long, covered in oil. Slag screamed like a banshee when it went in, then made a right mess cumming all over the sheets.’

Thermite isn’t quite sure what to say to that, knowing that he’s spent plenty of nights listening to Ace come apart with tormented climax, and trying to pick which night might be the one Mute is talking about. Then throwing the thought away. That kind of thing about as easy as finding a needle in a haystack. 

Not losing sight of his goal, Thermite taps another quick text into his iPhone, reaching down to knot his fingers in Aruni’s hair.

 ** _Probably_** , he warns Thatcher, before hauling Aruni bodily from the floor, his submissive squealing and banging her tiny fists against him in protest. It tickles, for the most part, and Thermite lets her have her outlet, each blow landing as he drags her over to Ace, shoving her onto her knees. 

He hunkers down next to her, free hand nudging between her legs to check the ginger plug is still in her cunt, while the fist in her hair guides her head towards Ace. Thermite resting her chin on the man’s spread cheeks, so she has a clear view of his red, spasming hole.

‘That’s lookin’ mighty sore,’ he says in her ear, peering at traumatized muscle, his own balls threatening to crawl back into his stomach. If someone ever tried basting his arsehole with chili, he’d be yelling bloody murder, or his safe word. Thermite feeling a wave of sympathy, and respect, for the submissive who’s taking his punishment like a champ - Ace quieting down with deep, measured breaths. Teeth biting at his lip. The control is shaky, at best, but still admirable, and Thermite glances at Aruni. Deciding that Ace has earned himself a treat. ‘What do you think, darlin’? You gonna be a good girl and kiss it better?’

The implication makes his submissive flinch, then strain in his grasp; Aruni trying to turn her pleading gaze on him. She’d never been much for rimming, even though he’s told her time and again, that’s what she’d be expected to do. What she’d spend the next few months doing, when her lips weren’t wrapped around someone’s cock. Because it had never been a hard boundary, and neither Thatcher or Sledge would take it easy on her, like Thermite had. 

Which is what she wants.

And what she’s going to get. 

‘No,’ Aruni begs, clutching at his arm as he lifts her head again - lining it up with her target. ‘Jordan, please. It’s _dirty_ -’

Thermite pushes her face into Ace’s crack without a shred of remorse - patting her shoulder when she flinches at the feeling of Ace pulsing against her lips, his submissive gagging at the musky scent hitting her nose. ‘He did it for you, sweetheart. It’s only fair you get to doin’ the same.’

She wants to resist, back arching like an angry cat. But Aruni has always been a good girl, determined to please him at every turn, and she opens her mouth, warm tongue wriggling against the man’s anus. Ace relaxing under the gentle sucking, and lapping, with a sigh. She picks up the pace, testing the resistance of his hole and grunting when Ace dilates, creamy lube that must have been piped deep into his rectum by either Mute, or Sledge earlier in the day, expelled onto her lips.

‘Mmmm, that looks finger-lickin’ good,’ Thermite says, hearing her gag again before she dutifully swallows it down. Aruni looking frightfully unhappy with her task. ‘You better be diggin’ for gold in there…’

He doesn’t need to reinforce his threat. Thermite releasing her as she bobs her head, pumping her tongue in and out of Ace’s inflamed ring. The burn of chili barely registering against a palate used to spice. 

She doesn’t try to pull back, despite her disgust. Not even when Thermite pushes himself upright, leaving her there to suckle Ace clean with ginger plugging her pussy and the rings in her nipples making her tits ache. 

The leash he’d used to bring her to heel, clattering to the floor by her knees, as his iPhone buzzes again. Notification flashing across the screen.

_**Deal stands.** _

‘Liza was going to be pissed.

Thermite rubs the back of his neck, turning his head right, then left, until there’s the loud pop of his joints cracking. Built-up pressure vanishing like smoke in open air. 

‘Cunt doesn’t like that much, does she?’ Mute says, shaking an opaque, plastic container of sewing needles - his intentions unclear, but likely running somewhere along the lines of turning Ace into a pincushion. By skewering his balls. ‘You trading her in for Thorn?’  
  
‘That’s what I was plannin’,’ Thermite answers, re-reading the message on his screen before looking at the man in front of him. Appraising him with a critical eye. 

Young and lean, Mute isn’t as heavy set as Thermite, or Thatcher; his fighting style relying more on speed and out-thinking his opponents. Part of that stemming from his interest in engineering. Mute at a computer just as often as he was on the SIMULATION course. Loud, brash and often breaking his silence with dry wit, Mute is handsome enough, when he’s not imitating his mentor. Light brown hair falling into his eyes, while angular cheek bones and a stubbled jaw give him a rugged charm.

‘You could leave her here,’ Mute is offering, already showing signs of boredom, and Thermite tries not to focus too much on his lips, or how many times they might have sucked cock. ‘Thorn is up in the rec if you want him, and Seamus will be coming back to shred this slag’s pussy soon. He can have her then.’

It’s tempting. Thermite having missed Erik in his bed for a long damn while, now - the other man usually snuggled between himself and ‘Liza. So one or both of them would wake, if he ever left to go on one of his walks. Their puppy sometimes disappearing for weeks with no contact, making everyone panic until he showed up again. 

The last time he’d done it, Thermite had made good on his threat, letting Thatcher bring their puppy home, and keep him. Because Thermite hadn’t liked his submissive going where nobody could follow him. Convincing himself that if Maverick wasn’t watched, he’d get himself in trouble. Convincing himself that it was better for Maverick to spend his down time tethered to a fucking machine, or Thatcher - Maverick’s new owner constantly thinking of new ways to keep him too exhausted to run.

‘Naw,’ Thermite says, ruthlessly squashing his guilt. Maverick would be fine, if a little raw and worse for wear, and besides… Thermite could always trade his new slut for him, if Maverick didn’t end up returning on his own accord. ‘He ain’t the puppy I’m bringin’ home.’

And before Mute can decide whether he’s curious enough to ask, Thermite is stepping towards him with a wink - grinning like the devil as he shows the message chain. 

At first, Mute seems annoyed.

His disinterested gaze tracking from left to right, before freezing on the last line, the words making him blink. He’s always been a quick learner. Perceptive, and smart, in a way that has him understanding the ramifications without Thermite needing to spell them out, his body going statue-still. 

‘…Now?’

His voice is rasping, and hesitant. Mute swallowing with an audible gulp.

‘Everyone has to earn their stripes, baby,’ Thermite says, a electric thrill going through him when the endearment has the submissive flushing crimson. ‘You can tell me no, and I’ll listen, no questions asked. But otherwise, I’m gonna be needin’ you down on your knees, and I ain’t gonna be tellin’ you twice.’

Mute opens his mouth. Closes it.

Thermite waits, exercising more patience than he’d normally grant. Thatcher is going to try and do him for this, and Thermite is halfway convinced Mute isn’t going to make it worth his while by agreeing - the man carrying a pride that made it hard to relinquish control - when the submissive finally moves, glancing down. Finding a place to settle on the wooden floorboards without cum, or piss, soaking through his clothes.

Lowering himself onto his knees, sewing needles dropping to the ground with a clatter.

Unzipping his jeans, Thermite closes the last of the distance between them - hand easing his hardening cock from his briefs, and slapping it against Mute’s cheek. Splattering a sticky trail that makes his new submissive grumble, lips pressing together in defiance. Mute resisting the tip of Thermite’s cock like a proper brat.

_It’s always fun when they have a bit of fight in em’._

Thermite delights in his luck, rumbling with a low, amused chuckle.

‘This is goin’ in you one way or another,’ he tells his new submissive, resting one hand on Mute’s head to keep him still, and hitting him a few more times with his cock. Making sure to wipe his arousal around the submissive’s flaring nostrils, before pinching his nose. 

Thermite feeling almost mean when Mute instinctively opens his mouth to breathe, proving that it’s amateur hour as Thermite rocks forward, burying himself in slick, inviting heat. 

The taste of sweat, and pre-cum, making Mute gag, and Thermite thrusts deep, stroking to the back of Mute’s throat. Stringy saliva bubbling along Thermite’s shaft as he pulls out completely; Mute spitting even more, drool washing down his chin.

‘Slower,’ his new submissive demands, gasping, and struggling to recover from the rough intrusion. His fingers cupping where Thermite’s cock and briefly stretch his neck, his expression strained, and shocked at the sensation.

‘Did I just pop your cherry, darlin’?’ Thermite croons, cock already back against Mute’s glistening lips, humiliation making the other man cringe. ‘You ain’t done this before? Well, here’s how it’s gonna go…’

He grasps a fistful of Mute’s hair, pulling his head back - forcing Mute to look at him as he smirks down into his new submissive’s flushed face. ‘You make me work for that mouth of yours, and you’ll be goin’ as fast as _I_ please. But if you open up nice and wide, I’ll be as gentle as _you_ please on your little virgin holes,’ Thermite stops Mute from trying to turn away, wrenching him back into place, grip searing his scalp. ‘Them’s the rules.’

‘ _Fuck_ …’

Mute wants to fight him.

Thermite seeing it in his black, unblinking stare.

But Mute’s too smart for that. The new submissive proving yet again that he’s one hell of a fast learner as he reluctantly kisses, then probes Thermite’s slit with his tongue, letting semen dribble in his mouth, but refusing to spread his lips. 

Trying to bide his time. 

The next minute, and Thermite’s scrotum slaps his new submissive’s chin - Mute’s nose buried in wiry pubic hair, while his gullet is stretched in ways he’s never felt before, his eyes watering, and his hands pushing against Thermite’s hips, consciously _not_ tapping out his non-verbal sign. He fights for a breath; his throat spasming, his mouth flooding with bile around the thick, leaking cock crammed into it, and then he’s retching. The nasty fluid quickly gulped back down, because it has nowhere else to go.

Above him and Thermite smiles benignly, choosing to simply let his new submissive suffocate on his cock and wear himself out.

‘You’re a natural, Mark.’

In a world of pain, Mute glares. One fist stopping to raise a middle finger.

And Thermite decides that later, when Thatcher’s fuck party is over, and done, and his brat of a submissive is tied to his bed, hips jutted up in the air, he’s going to teach Mute how to finger his own arsehole with it.


End file.
